


The Devil On My Shoulder

by PacketofRedApples



Category: The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Drunken Kissing, F/M, Fluff, Mildly Creepy Michael, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, There is plot I just haven't gotten to it yet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:48:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23395771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PacketofRedApples/pseuds/PacketofRedApples
Summary: Chief of Operations, Michael, needs assistance in a matter, Eleanor might just agree to help.
Relationships: Michael (The Good Place)/Eleanor Shellstrop
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	The Devil On My Shoulder

**Author's Note:**

> Gave Micahel a proper surname, cuz "Realman" is dumb.  
> This AU was egged on for me to do by a friend that didn't watch the show, has no intention of watching it or even reading the fic. Godspeed.  
> I know, this is probably kinda terrible, but ayy I tried... Chapter one in, I intend a couple more. I have a plot idea, just gotta figure it out and get my motivation back. Also, I wrote this like a month back, but I just about gave up on editing the chapter and fixing it, so yes-- sorry it's so bad.  
> I hope at least somebody enjoys it.

This could have been a new low. Sitting, alone, at a bar, drinking… Not being hit on by anyone. Hell, she even got a bar tab tonight. It might actually be her lowest… maybe. It was hard to tell all with her usual lifestyle. But Shellstrop came in, expecting to have a good time, even if the suckers from work were avoiding her now. Apparently, designated driver duty had to be fulfilled sometime. Bullshit.

She leaned over the counter, motioning for another drink. The guy at the other side whipped it up quickly and she stared at it for a few seconds. And as he walked away, she eyed him, momentarily. He was cute, but totally wasn't even trying to flirt with her. What the hell was wrong with people here tonight? Usually, she’d be busy with at least some weird guy annoying her… but then again, it was a Thursday night.

She was contemplating calling it quits after this one, paying up and heading home, but somebody suddenly sat down a stool away from her and ordered a drink. Eleanor sipped some of her margarita, glancing at him-- not bad looking for an old guy. But that didn’t change her mind at all, then. She tried to study his features while avoiding blatantly staring at him. Not sure why possibly the alcohol was getting to her. But she was enjoying his profile, watching him order his own drink—beer, so that was boring. He drank some of it, cringing quickly and she wonders what he expected. He looked too nicely dressed for this place – really, a full suit, man? Nobody was trying that hard. But then again, why the hell did the guy even order beer if he didn’t like the taste?

“Hey.” He suddenly said, turning to face her, after she glanced at him for what possibly was too many times. Oh, okay, she knew where this was going. Now the question was if she’ll agree to dig herself this grave. Usually, the answer would be no—but who knows where the night will take her.

“Hi.” She says, with a polite but surely uncomfortable smile. Notes how he looks her over, lightning-quick but obvious.

“Noticed, you kept looking at me—I don’t happen to be too out of place, do I?” He sounds just slightly off from sincere. Eleanor doesn’t know what to make of it. Well, she probably knows what he’s trying to pull regardless, she isn’t sure it’s working though.

“You kind of stick out, man. Really.” She says, fully honest. There was no reason to not hurt this dude's feelings. “Also, you the face you pulled makes it seem like you don’t drink.”

“I do drink, just not beer.” He counters, looking back at the glass next to him, but seemingly not very enticed by it.

“Then why did you order beer? That’s dumb.” She then downed half her glass. There’s a polite smile on his features then before he speaks again.

“I wanted to seem casual… I’m Michael Goodman, by the way.” His smile then grows smug. She narrows her eyes at him. Great, she didn’t need this.

“Eleanor.” She replies in a tone that hopefully gave away just how uninterested she was. As well, she hopes he won’t pry for her last name. Didn’t need some creep finding her on Facebook or some crap, already had enough of those.

“Eleanor…”He repeats like it’s foreign on his tongue. It might be, however, as he pronounces it wrong, but she’s a little too wrapped up in planning a way out to correct him. Which, it seemed there was only the straight forward one. She finishes her drink.

“Anyway, I got to go.”

She waves over the bartender and asks to pay for her tab. He nods, takes her card and after some tapping on the little device at hand he gives it to her to enter her pin. She does so, seeing Michael continuing to drink his shitty beer from the corner of her eye. Unfortunately, before she straightens from her slouching position, about to take her stuff and leave the guy behind the counter speaks.

“Your payment didn’t go through.” He’s matter of fact, and Eleanor panics slightly. He had to be fucking kidding her, right? She looks up hopeful. “You can just pay in cash.” She looks at her purse, with utter terror setting in. Okay, so how fast can she even run? She had no cash on her. Everything was on her card and apparently that wasn’t enough. Michael steps off his stool and behind her taking out something from his pocket, suddenly and Eleanor becomes acutely aware of him again.

“It's fine, I’ll pay for us both.” There’s a light grin on his features and the blonde is sure she’s in hell if there ever was one. Now she’ll probably owe this guy… Not ideal. No, no, far from it.

She looks over as he opens up his wallet, and to her odd not-surprise-but-totally-somehow-still-surprise he has a giant wad of cash there. She watches him take out a couple of large bills and hand them over to the barkeeper. The exchange last barely two minutes, but Eleanor is stuck reevaluating her life.

The bartender walks away soon after again, and Michael glances at the woman, feigning a concerned expression.

“You’re taking a taxi home, right?” He studies her slightly tipsy form.

“Not really, I can’t—long story but I can’t call one.” She explains begrudgingly.

“Then I’ll drive you.” He perks up, somehow, even more.

“Didn’t you drink, too?” He glances at the mostly still full pint, along with her.

“Don’t think it’ll be a problem”

* * *

The vehicle moves along the streets, as Eleanor wonders if the directions she gave him are far enough from her actual home for him to not show up again. Who knows with men like this, anyway?

“You know, I went to the bar with a goal in mind.” He breaks the silence after a good five minutes of driving. Okay, totally not creepy, old guy… Who’s car Eleanor just so happens to be trapped in. Great, she’s probably going to get killed tonight or something. But she looks him over, realizing somehow this seems fitting. “I have a company event tomorrow and I don’t have a date. Figured, I’d try to pick someone up at least. It looks like I failed spectacularly.”

Eleanor tilts her head, contemplating what he said. All right, this might actually work out. He’s got an odd edge to him, but it doesn’t seem like he’s intending any harm after all—no, he just… seems weird. The blonde, still looking at him, tries to gauge just how much of him is trying to guilt her into this without blatantly saying it. She’s not dumb, after all. She can easily read him, especially now. He’s just some dirty old bastard hoping to get laid, regardless. She was certain of this. What bothered her was that he seemed very casual about this, no attempt to flirt or encourage it. Does he think his natural charms will work that easily?

“Where do you work?” Eleanor asks, after some thinking, deciding to figure it out depending on his response.

“Oh?” The dude glances at her, as if evaluating how much to say to her. “Don’t know if it’ll help you, but I work for NSC.”

“NSC?” She mutters back, recalling what it means. “Isn’t it that big agency downtown?” She suddenly feels pretty ridiculous, there’s no way this guy is for real. He has to be lying. Yet, she watches him nod slowly. The car carefully comes to a halt, stopping in front of a red light. He looks out at it, and quickly snakes his hand into his inner pocket, taking out one business card and handing it to her.

Eleanor accepts it, confused and somewhat unsure if she should allow herself to believe this. The dim light in the car makes it impossible to read, but somehow she can barely make out his name and company position on it. Chief Operating Officer…? Nope. No way.

As the woman travels through multiple levels of questioning how truthful this was, he pulls up at the curb of one of the buildings and looks over at her.

“Well, we’re here.” He says, to knock her back into reality. It works. She looks at him one last time, before unbuckling the seatbelt and opening the door. The blonde is about to step out when she glances back at him, still watching her.

“You know, I’m going to think about it. Might figure out a way to help you with this date thing.” She says, already scheming herself. Surely, she had a clue or two how this could benefit her if this was for real.

Seemingly, this response gave Michael high spirits as he grinned at her then.

“I’d really appreciate it, Eleanor.”

“You’re saying my name wrong.”

“What?”

She blinks at him, but then shakes her head.

“Never mind.”

With that awkward exchange, they part. Eleanor gets out of the car and walks in the actual direction of her apartment… the other stalls for a moment or two, perplexed before he starts his car again and drives off.

* * *

The following morning, she awoke with a hefty headache and a far too loud alarm. After mumbling an array of curses, and shutting down the blaring sounds, she sat up in bed and huffed. Spending only a few minutes like that, she finally gets out of bed, which was a win for her given how hard it is to wake up for work. She slowly stalks into the kitchen, starting to make her coffee when she spots the business card she dropped there the previous night. Picking it up, she glares. Right, she had to make a choice about this and probably sooner than later.

Would it really be worth it to her? Surely, it looked legit but then again how hard could it be to order a false one and pretend to be a hotshot? As her warm beverage brews, she takes out a water bottle from the fridge and downs half its content easily. It didn’t make her feel that much better, but it got rid of the dryness in her mouth.

She placed the plastic container on the counter, leaned against it, still holding the paper in her hand. She rotates it, examining it. Michael Goodman, Chief Operating Officer of NSC. Eleanor frowned, throwing on the table in front and then picking up the aspirin bottle that she had long ago left in the kitchen. After popping two pills, drinking them down with barely an effort, she took her mug and sat down in the dining area.

Michael didn’t seem all that bad last night, he seemed peculiar, sure, but wasn’t making active passes at her. Or she didn’t pick up on them then. If anything, she could go there, to accompany him but then spend the rest of the evening mingling with the likes that were more her type. Surely, there had to be younger men and women there. She could manage. Damn, he was nice enough to get her out of a load of trouble the previous night, so she might as well do this.

A sip of hot coffee, just barely not hot enough to not burn her mouth.

She glances back at where she discarded the information. It had his number on the other side…

She stood up, walked over and picked up the card, then walking back to her bedroom, fishing out her phone from where she dropped it in the sheets. She glances at the time, then back at the small paper.

Worst case scenario, she can hang up, right? Then forget about it. If his secretary picks up and sounds weird, she might.

Dialing the number like a sloth, there’s a tiny voice telling her not to do this, but then she plunges down below to the pits of it all when she presses the call button.

Silence, apart from the phone beeping occasionally as she puts it to her ear. Eleanor tells herself, if he won’t pick up soon, she’ll hang up. Repeats it in her head, to calm herself. But the mantra doesn’t last long.

“Hi there. You’ve reached Michael Goodman’s office, he isn’t in yet. Can I take a message?” A female voice, cheery in tone, almost sounding like a recording shocks the woman and she stammers a greeting then.

“I’m Eleanor Shellstrop—Michael gave me his card last night.” She explains, feeling pretty ridiculous, this wasn’t needed. “I wanted to talk to him… when will he be in?”

A pause.

“Well, he just arrived at the floor, if you hold on a minute; I can hand over the phone to him.” The woman at the other end explains, seemingly still holding up the gleeful tone.

“Thanks, um…” She feels weird; usually she wouldn’t bother with a name but…

“Janet.” The other picks up on her trying to figure it out. Says it fairly abruptly, but her tone wouldn’t betray rudeness or impatience. Janet seems comfortable talking like this.

“Thanks, Janet.” Eleanor feels oddly relieved at this. She decides to engage in some small talk then but nothing really comes to mind. “So you’re Michael’s assistant or?”

“Yes, I work for him.” Not exactly what she meant, but all right.

“Isn’t it weird to so easily just let me talk to him? I mean, if he’s really so high up, wouldn’t he get bombarded with phone calls then?”

“Oh, no. Usually, I wouldn’t put you through, but he texted me last night to say you might call, Eleanor. Didn’t give me your last name, though. But I assume you’re the woman he met at the bar, right?” Okay, maybe hanging up would be a better idea. Clearly, the guy was holding out far too much hope for her. Maybe a little obsessed. “He’s here.” Janet says and then there’s some shuffling on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Michael.” Eleanor feels increasingly more awkward, so she sits down on her bed as if it’ll alleviate it. “So I considered it, I think I could go with you tonight.” God, don’t let this go awfully wrong.

“Really? That’s great.” His voice sounds not as joyful as the woman’s but there’s definitely something there. “I can text you the address where we’ll meet, then. A few hours before the party, hopefully. You don’t happen to have work today, do you?” He asks, expectantly, and Eleanor could almost cringe. She did… but saying that might blow this. She then considers calling in sick as she hasn’t done that too often, this time.

“Yeah, sure. No worries.” And what the hell possessed her to say that? “See you later.”

“Great, then hang on, I’ll write you in a bit. Bye.”

And he hung up. Not exactly how she anticipated this going, however, it could have been much worse.

Eleanor buries her face in her hands, contemplates if there was a route of this mess. But then her phone pings and she glances at it. The address and time… Okay, too late now. She was going to do this.

Now, to disappoint her boss...

* * *

She was waiting by the flower shop and this random convenience store for a solid five minutes, contemplating running away and just forgetting she had agreed to anything. Especially, once the rain started. The red dress she wore now was usually reserved for special things, but figuring this was one of them she put it on today. Bad call now. She could only do much to not groan. Standing there for another minute, she glances around—no sign of the bastard. Okay, fine. She then looks at the two storefronts and shakes her head, this was a no brainer. She ducked into the convenience store, and instantly her hands dart to her hair, assessing the damage as she walks through the aisle there. It wasn’t too bad, but it definitely removed some of the volume from it.

Sighing, Eleanor steps up the magazine rack by the window and eyes it momentarily. As she’s still trying to make herself look decent, the blonde looks up at the reflection from the glass, adjusting the wet strands, trying to keep the frustration out of the motion of it all. Trying, being the keyword here. Her eyes focus on what she can make out of herself in front, instead of the passing figures on the street outside. When she decides she looks decent enough, she drops her arms to her sides and blinks.

Michael. Michael is standing outside the window, under an umbrella, lightly smiling at her through the glass. Eleanor frowns and crosses her arms over her chest, glares. So he finally showed up… how long has he even been there? She totally did not see him coming. Creepy.

He motions for her to step out, and walks to the door of the store. The woman adjusts her purse on her shoulder and leaves the small shelter she had found.

“You took your sweet time.” She grunts, just out the door as Michael moves his umbrella to cover her already somewhat wet form.

“Sorry, sorry.” He’s still smiling though, seemingly not making his apology believable.

They walks slightly, just barely, to the side as Eleanor closes in on herself, trying to warm up, but it’s soon a lost cause as Michael hands her the umbrella, bending slightly as even with effort it was hard to hold it over them both (stupid height difference). He takes off his raincoat and hands it to her. Still standing in his tidy suit, he then retrieves the device and lifts it up above them once more. Eleanor, feeling slightly awkward, slips into the article and pretty much drowns in fabric. Ok, this was ridiculous. But it kept her warm, so she wasn’t going to complain. Too much at least, but she was sure her reaction once she put it on clued the older man in but if anything, it made his grin wider. Screw him… what the hell was so amusing, anyway?

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” He says, leading her along with his hand on the small of her back. Eleanor scrutinizes his face then, trying to figure out if she really wants to go along with this. Sure, she barely knows him, but – he seems decent. Not too wild, right? Sure, a little boring, but… could be worse. That is, if you look past the constant smiling he’s been doing… doesn’t his face hurt from it? Sure, it suited him and all, but c’mon.

“All right, who is it?”

“Ever heard of Tahani Al-Jamil?” He asks her as if there’s a chance she’s been living under a rock. Which is fair, but—she nods her head, showing that this is not the fact here. She hasn’t heard a lot though if what she’s heard is even substantial enough but the name rings a bell or two.

“Isn’t that Kamilah’s sister?” She takes a wild stab in the dark, thinking it sounds about right.

“You might not want to mention that when you meet her.”

* * *

“Tahani?” Eleanor steps out of the changing booth, not really paying mind to anything around her except the pattern of the dress. Embarrassingly, she pressed her hands to the fabric and tries to decide just how badly on a scale of one to ten does she look like somebody’s daughter getting ready for her first prom. This was awful. “I’m not sure it’ll work on me—I think I need something else.”

“Yeah, something shorter would suit you better.” Wait, that was without a doubt Michael’s voice. Eleanor’s eyes shoot up, irritated. He just sat there, on one of the chairs with his phone in hand.

“What are you doing here?” She more so demands to know than ask.

“Tahani went to look for another dress for you. Said I should go in and make sure you're fine.” He explains, looking back at the gadget in his hand, typing away at something (even if slowly, mind you). Eleanor, blinked, unsure how to process this.

She spotted the mirror, in the side and looked herself over in it. This dress was cute, sure, but on her, it was a bit too long. Surely, on somebody like Tahani—boasting legs for days—it’d look good. Speak of the devil, however, within minutes, the woman in question walked into the changing area with a couple more dresses in hand.

“Ah, I see you were right as ever, Michael.” She noted, seemingly disappointed as she examined her new acquaintance's current image. Michael, without flinching from his phone, nodded. In this entire equation, the blonde felt slightly off. But then she got two dresses thrust into her arms. “Try these.”

Eleanor rolled her eyes and went into the changing booth once more. She easily slid out of the first dress, feeling relieved to be free of it. Sure it was classic, by all means, but the length… man, the length added with the damn cut of it—it made her seem like she stepped out of the 60s. And she sure as hell wasn’t comfortable in it. So this was an utter relief, actually. The moment she put on the second dress, it felt by far better. More her style, for sure. The low neckline, the bare back, the overall length of it—not too long, not too short-- yeah, she could work with this!

Shellstrop, feeling much more confident now, stepped out with a satisfied smirk. She was surely looking like an utter fox. Everyone at this stupid party is going to be ogling her, she was certain. Sure, Michael was the one who asked for the company here, but who said she couldn’t have fun there?

Given Tahani’s own approving look when she saw Eleanor, and Michael’s sudden stiffened form, staring at her, they clearly had a winner. No third option needed.

“I think this one will do.” Eleanor, says, oozing self-satisfaction at the two’s reaction.

“Oh. A- absolutely.” Michael seemingly had all his smug taken out of him, instead replaced by a boy who’s seeing a dirty magazine for the first time. Tahani eyes him from her spot then, seemingly off thrown by this. Surely, in all the time they’ve known each other this was the first time she’s heard him trip over his words. But this made Eleanor all the more pleased.

At the counter, Michael paid for the dress without the girl having to even bother changing out of it, seeing as the party was in several hours and there are still a few things to do. Also, it was preferred over her attire from earlier; especially given the rain sort of ruined it. Anyway, she was sure she didn’t even remotely have enough money for it. Maybe this is how they’ll get even, for her accompanying him.

* * *

They arrived at Tahani’s residence after what felt like too long. No substantial conversation really had, all Eleanor took away from it is that Michael was the one keeping an eye on her. Though, whether that was because he didn’t trust her or because she just looked that good was possibly up for debate, right? They did meet not even 24 hours ago, after all. She barely knew him. He seemed like your usual old guy who just had too much money for his own good. That and she knew she looked damn good.

Stepping out the car, they headed into the party, that was pretty much starting, save for the time not being the exact one set.

Before they entered the mansion, Eleanor grabbed onto Michael’s jacket sleeve, and he stopped on spot, glancing at her and the building before opting to listen to what she had to say.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m only helping you, don’t think of anything funny. Just because I’m your date tonight, doesn’t mean jack.” She explains, defensively. He smiles, for fuck knows which time and she watches him raise a hand as if guarding himself from her. But it’s hardly believable as that.

“Of course.” He says. She isn’t sure she trusts that.

With that she’s about to drop her hand, but he motions for her clearly to link their arms together.

“Make it look more official.” He justified this, and then once it was done they entered.

The inside was ridiculous; Eleanor could swear her entire apartment could fit several times over inside the place… It annoyed her. The host appeared quickly, handed them two items and excused herself then.

Eleanor glanced over to what was in her hand now, confused.

“It’s a masquerade. Did I forget to tell you?” Michael, picking up on her confusion, clarified as he put his on. Eleanor followed in this.

The masks were simple enough, nothing too over the top, but Eleanor couldn’t get the Eyes Wide Shut concept out her mind. God, she better not have gotten roped into something she didn’t agree on. She glances at Michael by her side, whose mask had horns on it and covered just about half of his face, which seemed oddly adorable despite the ornaments —wait, what the hell… She didn’t really care for this; she wasn’t going to stick next to him the entire time, right? Begone, an odd sense of keeping a promise. She came out here to meet other people, not hang out with some (admittedly, good looking) old guy.

They walked into one of the further rooms and some stuffy looking guys approached them, engaging in conversation with Michael only. And once given this opportunity to ditch the geezer, she did just that. Mingling across the large main floor, drinking probably more wine than advised… She halted by one of the walls, to look around more. She chatted (use that word loosely) with a couple of people, but nobody really held her interest. But as she was trying to scout out anyone else, she spots Michael at one end of the room, talking to more people. Well, he surely didn’t mind. Eleanor sipped more of her drink then, looking him over there. He seems to look up to her, but it was hard to tell. At first at least. He soon smirks in her direction and then she’s certain. Partially feels like an invitation to return to him, but she’s not sure she wants to.

“Hey, babe.” Somebody says right at her side, and she cringes so hard she’s instantly unquestionably decided that she’d rather be by the old guy now. Eleanor looks at the direction of the voice. The guy’s wearing the most casual outfit here, a t-shirt underneath his jacket and god damn jeans of all things. Eleanor narrows her eyes at him. “Noticed you’re alone. Figured, I might as well swoop in. I’m sure it’s better than drinking away another sad night alone. Seriously, how many glasses did you have? Like ten?”

“What do you want?”

“Not much, you just seem like the easiest lay in here.” He says so nonchalantly, that she thinks that if she were to murder him, nobody would hold her accountable for it.

“Dream on—“

“Don’t think I need to if you keep up chugging wine, I’ll just come in to collect.” He’s smug, which only adds to the blonde’s anger at him.

“Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Trevor.” A much deeper voice cuts in, sternly. Eleanor doesn’t even look at who it is, she knows, but the guy smirks, satisfied.

“Hey, Mikey, what’s good?” Oh, great, of course, they know each other. Eleanor thinks of storming off. But the older man steps closer to her side, making the escape from this more difficult, a lot more obvious. His hand slides past her lower back and rest on her hip opposite to where he stood. Eleanor should move it away; she knows it, she’s almost angry enough about the gesture to do it. He’s disregarding what she told him, but… she doesn’t really care now. For some reason, unbeknownst to her, she allows it. Doesn’t admit to enjoying it. Definitely, she won’t admit to how much safer it made her feel.

Trevor doesn’t flinch at this gesture, barely acknowledges it. To him it doesn’t seem like a roadblock, does it?

“I think Shawn wanted to see you.” Michael’s voice is still steely in its delivery. The dipshit chuckles but surprisingly walks away. Partially, Eleanor knows she should thank the other, but that’s easier said than done.

“I could have handled it myself.” She pouts, trying to reposition her glass in her palm. But in some utter dumbass move, Eleanor drops the glass. Watching it fall, it almost feels like it should have been in slow motion, but it went down so quick… It was embarrassing, seeing the drink go to waste on the tile floor. “Fuck.” She breathes, frustrated, attempting to decide if she should bother with cleaning it up.

“It’s okay.” Michael reassures, his hand slipping off her hip onto her back. The weird thing, it cools her off almost instantly. This must be the alcohol. The bastard—Trevor?—was right, she did have a lot. “Maybe we should leave?” His suggestion comes unexpectedly.

“What? No, we just got here.” The protest is unforeseen as well.

“Yes, two hours ago.” Shit! Has it really been that long… “Let’s go, I’ll get you home.”

“No, come on, it isn’t that late now.”

“Maybe, but I’d rather not have you around Trevor now.”

Eleanor isn’t sure what about that statement gets her, but she looks at his face for a split second, feeling dumb about the mask again and deciding she suddenly really wanted to take it off.

“Okay, fine. Let’s go.”

Once again, offering his arm to her, he leads her outside, allowing for her to hold onto him as she tried her best to not trip or wobble. He gets her into the back of the car, himself getting behind the wheel.

“Didn’t you drink?” She asks, only mildly worried.

“Not at all.” He answers, truthfully with no smugness attached.

That’s good enough for her. Watching in the rearview mirror as he took off his mask, Eleanor remembers to do the same. As the car starts and drives out of the territory, she feels herself fall asleep.

* * *

She opens her eyes to a light shaking and cool night air on her skin. She’s cold if the goosebumps were anything to go by. She looks around, to the open door and where Michael was sloping, trying to wake her.

“What’s up?” She’s quiet, voice still insisting on rest.

“I’m at the place I last dropped you off—I don’t know where you live exactly.” He copies her tone, as to not be too jarring.

Oh… right. She never gave him her address.

She reaches out to him to take her hand and help her out of the car. He complies. Once out, she staggers lightly at finds herself pressed against the much larger man. He steadies her and only then steps back.

“Should I walk you to your home?” He sounds concerned…and somewhat amused. The blonde wants none of that and yet, she agrees to it with one motion. So Michael locks the car with one quick press of a button and puts a hand over her shoulders, walking her in the direction she had gone in the previous night. Eleanor permits this, being sort of caught up at how pleasant the man smells. Slightly, rough, but pleasant. Dammit. What is this?

She lightly nudges him the correct directions as they walk, and it must have taken only five minutes to get there. Not too bad for a drunk and a guy who had no clue.

“It’s here.” She announces eventually. Michael slows down and drops his arm from her. Eleanor almost instantly misses the proximity. Something must really be wrong with her right now. And then—well, he leans in, whispering something, but she’s too drunk to make it out through the sounds of the streets. In some weird bravado, she leaps into the motion, before she even realizes they’re kissing. Well, she’s kissing him. He’s stiff under—or more so accurately—above her.

She let’s go, disappointed, but he looks at her not quite bewildered. What she didn’t know was how strongly he was holding back.

“Don’t do things you’re going to regret later.” He says, straightening up.

“Thank you for tonight?” Eleanor offers, and he nods. “Can we have a repeat of this? Maybe with far less alcohol?”

“I’m not sure you want that.” He concludes. She looks him over then, before turning around somewhat hurt and entering her apartment building. Once she’s gone through the door, he leaves.


End file.
